


Perspective

by MiaGhost



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Caring Richie Tozier, Divorce, Domestic Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris Live, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Making Plans, Moving On, Nobody is Dead, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Secret love, Slaying Further Monsters of the Personal Variety, Soft Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris Lives, The Losers Club Are Good Friends (IT), The Losers Club Deserve Happiness (IT), The Losers feel guilty, Wounded Eddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiaGhost/pseuds/MiaGhost
Summary: "Where is he?" he heard himself rasp, and thought drunkenly that he needed a drink of water, his voice was so dry."Eddie?"Eddie sank back against Ben's chest as all his energy finally left him like so many tiny puffs of air escaping a flat balloon. Ben was talking. Eddie could feel him talking, the rumble of that deep, rich voice that Eddie had come to remember he'd forgotten. The depth to it he'd missed growing up, when they'd gone their own ways and forgotten their shared childhood. Ben was definitely talking, but staying awake was proving far too consuming for Eddie to really hear him.It failed to kill him, and he's found his way back.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	1. Chapter 1

It's amazing what perspective surviving death can put on your life.

Crawling out of the sewers after waking alone wasn't even the hardest thing Eddie had ever had to do. He was bloody, though his wound had somehow sealed, weak from blood-loss, starving like he hadn't eaten in a week, and covered head to toe in filth.

But as he stumbled, blinking and wincing into the sunlight of the Barrens, he drew a clean breath and felt like the entire world had finally clicked into place.

Each muscle in his legs threatened to give in every step of the way, but he pushed on. One foot in front of the other, and then again. Each breath steady and paced. He walked along the roadside, the one he'd ridden his bike along a thousand times in childhood, never considering just how the asphalt met the grass or how many millions of pebbles peppered the edges of the road like crumbs bitten off by tyres.

The town was deserted, like they knew something had gone down. Though it must have taken Eddie over an hour to make the slow, painful trip, he never met a soul. And probably best, for how could he explain to them the grime and dirt and ooze, the sewer water and blood that he was caked in?

Maybe it was the lingering touch of that Good Force, the turtle. Maybe it was luck. Whatever it was, Eddie had no energy to be grateful to it. His only focus was getting there, one single slow step at a time.

His vision was hazy as his toes met the driveway. Drawing air into his lungs was increasingly difficult the closer he got, and every breath was a heavy, laboured groan. The door handle turned easily under his touch, which was a relief, for Eddie didn't think he had enough left in him to apply any more force, or to knock loud enough that someone might hear.

He practically fell over the threshold, his feet finally stumbling, rubbery and uncoordinated. His grip on the doorknob barely held him up, but he didn't even have any power left to throw out his other arm so he simply hung there, teetering, ready to collapse.

That's where he was when he was found, the sharp gasp his greeting. He blinked and lifted his head wearily, blinking again until the blurry, shadowy shape several feet away was revealed to be Ben. Eddie blinked back at him, absently noting the abject horror on his friend's face. Time continued on for a moment, his arm shaking as it tried to hold him up.

"Where is he?" he heard himself rasp, and thought drunkenly that he needed a drink of water, his voice was so dry.

" _Eddie_?"

And suddenly there were strong arms taking hold of him, manoeuvring him away from the doorway. He thought distractedly that the door needed closed, but Ben either didn't hear it echoing around in Eddie's head, or deigned to ignore it as he led him forwards, Eddie's arm slung over his shoulder. This only lasted three or four clumsy steps before Ben's arm slipped behind his knees and took all his weight.

Eddie sank back against Ben's chest as all his energy finally left him like so many tiny puffs of air escaping a flat balloon. Ben was talking. Eddie could feel him talking, the rumble of that deep, rich voice that Eddie had come to remember he'd forgotten. The depth to it he'd missed growing up, when they'd gone their own ways and forgotten their shared childhood. Ben was definitely talking, but staying awake was proving far too consuming for Eddie to really hear him.

"Where is he?" he asked again, the words cracked and unclear.

"Bev," Ben was saying. The only word Eddie's brain could latch onto and process into something other than garbled sound. Something about Bev.

He was jostled, his head spinning more and more. He closed his eyes as his head drooped, and he let himself be bumped wherever Ben was taking him. Something cool touched his forehead, and then he was tipped sideways, and then something soft was holding him, spelling like cotton.

A bed, his brain supplied groggily, he was being lain on clean sheets. The cool thing was back on his forehead, and Ben's rumbly voice had another sound to it. Lighter, warm and gentle. Bev, Bev's voice. Bev's hand, her fingers, on his forehead. More of Ben's rumble, and Eddie felt the world shift a little bit before it settled again. Something gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He wanted to talk about how much dirt was stuck to his skin. He wanted to tell them not to touch him in case he passed on some gross bacteria from whatever It had spewed on him.

The gentle sound of Bev was back, and Eddie tried to focus on what it was saying. Something about a cloth. Eddie groaned as a gentle touch pressed along his chest. It hurt, it fucking hurt. It hurt so bad he might hurl.

"It's okay," she was saying, watery in his ears, oh god what if he had shit from the sewers in his ears, messing with his hearing. What if something crawled-

Eddie's body convulsed suddenly, curling him tight on his side as it rose all the way from the pit of his gut and up his throat, burning his tongue as it passed. God, everything fucking hurt. The harder he tried to focus, the more everything hurt. Part of him wanted to give up on it and sink into the achy blackness, where the numb feeling was. But another part was yelling at him and sounding real familiar, so he didn't.

"Bev," he managed to groan, trying to open his eyes.

They felt like lead, it was so fucking hard.

"Bev?"

"Yeah, Eddie. It's me," she answered, soft and reassuring, something solid to cling to, "it's me, hang in there."

"Where is he?"

"Ben'll get them, don't worry. We'll get someone to help, just wait with me, Eddie. Can you open your eyes?"

He whined when his neck spasmed as he tried to shake his head. He dragged in a breath, fighting the tightness in his chest. Blinking, again. Slowly, but determined. He was going to open his fucking eyes, dammit. There she was, blurry red shadow, auburn. Like warm fire and autumn.

"Bev."

Her mouth split into a grin, and her fingers squeezed his hand again.

"Hey," she said, "hey."

There was a murmuring shadow behind her, but it was hard to focus. Eddie listened, instead, and he knew the breath.

"Bill," he said, "Bill's here."

"Yeah!" Bev seemed pleased, "Yeah he is, here- Bill-"

Bev moved, tilting the world again before Bill was there, his rough hand brushing Eddie's cheek, his face full of worry and guilt. Eddie could smell him, under the nauseating smell of death and sewage and sick. Bill's fingers squeezed his shoulder.

"Heya, Eddie."

"Hi Bill."

Bill's face was screwing up, like he was in pain, and Eddie tried to lift his arm for him. Bill looked awful. He didn't look like they'd fought a monster and won. He looked like they'd lost. Maybe they had. Eddie couldn't rightly remember.

"Where is he?"

His mouth kept asking, even as Mike walked into view, his mellow timbre joining the familiar river of sound in the room. Bev and Bill traded a look that Eddie nearly missed, and suddenly there was a new power leaking into Eddie's head, because they looked worried. Scared. Eddie found the energy to blink hard, clearing the fuzziness as he took in all their faces. Ben, in the doorway, looking at him like he was seeing a ghost.

Stanley, his curls mussed and bedraggled, water dripping down his face and his t-shirt. His eyes were wide, his face pale as shit. Eddie blinked at them all, drawing in another breath when nobody said anything. He looked at Bill, who avoided his gaze, his face turning a little away. Bev was the only one who met his eye like she was afraid of him.

"Where is he?"

"He's not here." Bev answered, her gaze flickering to Bill for just a heartbeat before meeting Eddie's again, their sea-green depths filled with things Eddie didn't think he'd ever have the energy to unpack.

"Not… What?"

He couldn't understand. His head was too full of treacle, of It gunk and sewer water, and shadows and blood. He stared at her, and she bit her lip. Dread began replacing the aches in his gut.

"Where is he?" he repeated lamely, looking between them.

Eventually, it was Stan who shrugged.

"He ducked out as soon as he was cleaned up. His car's still here. He's not gone. We just don't know where he is."

Eddie felt something awful in his stomach unwind.

"Fucking typical." was what came out of his mouth in a weak moan, and the strange tension in the air seemed to snap like an old rubber band.

Bev sniggered into her hand while the others laughed, faces splashed with surprise as though they didn't even realise they'd started. Even Bill smiled, watery and pale, but there. Eddie closed his eyes and felt his own mouth smile. The sound of their laughter was warm, filling the air like it was tangible, rippling from them and floating through the air like strands of ribbon, curling around his skin. Wrapping him up in warm, snaking vines, sinking into his blood.

Everything hurt. Everything fucking _hurt_. But the longer he lay, the more energy he could feel leaking from them, into his skin. Breathing became easier. His chest shrugging off whatever weight it had been carrying.

"I'll call an ambulance." Ben said eventually, still looking at Eddie like he'd died, but Eddie shook his head, pushing up onto his hands in a long, slow, wobbly move.

"I need a shower."

"You need medical attention." Bev argued instantly, one hand placing itself flat on his heart as though to push him down again.

He shook his head.

"Please, Bev. Don't… don't make me leave."

It came out before he thought of it, wording the twisted, aching fear right at his core. That they'd send him away when he'd only just found his way back. Maybe Bev heard it. Maybe she heard _him_ , as it wandered around in his head. But she bit her lip before sighing. Bill looked like he might argue, but he didn't. Instead he stepped away and gave Bev the space to help Eddie up.

"Can you make it to your room?" she asked, hovering close at his side, taking most of his weight despite her clothes being clean, and him being… well, fucking filthy.

"If you help me." he answered, weak and uncomfortable.

Bev slid under his arm and nodded, and Ben held the door open for them. It was slow and awkward, his feet still kind of numb, but they made it down the hall, and into his room. She helped him to the shower without a word, helping him manoeuvre his shirt buttons, his sweater, his t-shirt. She got the buckle on his belt, and the buttons on his jeans. She got his shoes, even helped him with his socks, and stripped his legs of clinging, ruined denim.

She left him with the shower running, her smile gentle and fond when she kissed his cheek and closed the door, leaving him alone with the task of getting into the shower, and organising his own thoughts.

Eddie felt more alive once the laborious task of showering was done. He felt like he'd scrubbed at least two layers of skin from his whole body, and the water was barely lukewarm by the time he twisted the knob to turn the rushing water off. The world fell quiet. He stood there for a minute, dripping water, watching it trail sluggishly down the drain.

Hazy memories bumped and lay in his head. He'd tried not to think too hard, letting the hot water soothe his muscles and soul, but now that the water was gone he could hear things. Things echoing in the cavern of It's layer, ringing down the tunnels. Screaming, painful wailing. The sound of his own name being torn from lips. The broken howls as his friends were set upon, tested, tortured, wounded.

He could hear Stanley's body hitting the rock near him, could see the blood soaking into the white of his sweater vest. He could see Ben, dirty like he'd clawed his way out of his own grave. Bev, almost unrecognisable, coated head to toe in congealing blood. He could hear the crying. He could smell the ooze that reached up from the cave floor to try and suck him under. He could taste the bitter air. He heard Bill's voice, loud and clear and full of confidence as he hollered at It. He could hear the rocks, feel the earth shaking and threatening to shatter under them.

He heard the panic. He heard the screaming.

He heard _him_ screaming. He heard the pain, the agony of his voice, louder even that the others pleading with him to leave. He heard the yelling, he heard the crying. He heard Bev, trying to reason even though she was panicking. He heard Bill using his commanding voice, the one that they all knew, the one that lived in his eyes when he spoke and made them follow him into Hell. He felt it, tearing and blistering in his own heart. Felt the lance of blinding agony as something pierced him. He felt the blood seeping from him as the shouts of his friends grew further away.

He needed to see him. It was all he could think while he dressed himself in clean clothes with numb fingers, the actions performed on rote as he listened to it all, their last stand. The screams would haunt him, he already knew. He'd be hearing the pain in his best friend's voices for years. He already knew that.

He needed to see him. It wouldn't go away. It grew, the longer it took, making his fingers shake and his stomach churn. It burned bright in his mind. He needed to see him. He knew he wouldn't feel real until he did.

When he was dressed, Eddie opened the door to the hallway and took a breath. There were voices downstairs. They were faint and hushed, as though there might be anyone around who could hear. He steeled himself and braved the stairs. He was careful, maybe overly so, but the last thing he needed after surviving what they had, was to break his neck falling downstairs. It'd be a fucking insult, to die in such an ordinary way.

He let out his breath when his feet touched the carpet at the bottom, and he let go of the banister. Trepidation gripped him as he stepped down the single step past the empty desk. there was never anyone there, not since they'd first checked in. It would be spooky, if there was any part of Eddie left to be frightened of something so mundane. He walked down the narrow hallway, until he reached the door to the lounge. The voices came from the other side, quiet and more familiar than any other sound he knew.

"-going to have to give him time."

"Jesus, Bev, are you kidding? After what happened?"

"All she's saying is give him space to breathe. Who know what he remembers, or what happened? We were so sure…"

"We left him for dead."

That voice snarled harsh, angry and pained like a cornered animal, and it made Eddie's heart lurch and his stomach spasm like he might throw up again. His heart rate fumbled and picked up, and he wasn't rightly sure why a shiver of fear shook his organs.

"We didn't know, did we?"

Defensive, guilty. Pained. Eddie couldn't listen any more, and he gathered his courage to step into the doorway. Six heads turned his way, and silence fell. They all looked guilty. They all looked hurt. All but him. _He_ looked… floored. Vulnerable. Like he'd been splayed open for the world to look inside and see what he was. Eddie couldn't see anyone else, for a second. All he could see was the tentative fear in Richie's dark, dark eyes. Something gentle in his chest clicked into place, and his feet stepped forward unbidden.

"Rich." he croaked, and then he was there.

He'd crossed the room and gathered Eddie up in his arms, crushing him painfully against his chest. Eddie's fingers dug into the back of Richie's shirt as he hissed at his wound being pressed, but he didn't pull away. He dug his fingers in harder, and pressed his face into Richie's chest. Richie smelled like cheap soap and old cologne. The zip on his sports coat cut into Eddie's cheek. Richie was shaking. Eddie held him tight as Richie's chin dug into his shoulder. The edge of his glasses pushed into the tender skin at Eddie's neck.

Eddie didn't care that every part of the embrace was uncomfortable. It was a long time before he could unhook his fingers to rub circles into the taller man's back. He pretended not to hear the choked sobs, or to feel the tears soaking into his fresh sweater. It was a much longer time before he pulled a little away, staying within the confines of Richie's arms to duck his head under his, to slip one hand up between them to brush his thumb under Richie's left eye.

"I'm sorry," Richie forced out, his voice splitting in half, "I'm s-so fucking sorry, Eddie."

Eddie gave his head a small shake and said nothing, pressing the thumb into Richie's cheek and drawing him down. Their foreheads settled together, and a horrid dark flash of snatched memory popped into Eddie's head. He took it, and he changed it. His lips pressed into one high cheekbone, fingers splaying across the back of Richie's neck as he pulled him close again. Richie's breathing was hitched and ragged, and Eddie squeezed him tightly.

It was a long time before anyone moved. Eventually, it was Bev who moved like a shadow across the room to wrap her arms around Eddie, her face pressing into the space under his ear. Then Bill on his other side. Stanley, his forehead against Eddie's temple. Mike at Richie's shoulder. Ben, a warm line down Eddie's back. They stayed like that long enough that Eddie's legs were aching from holding him up.

Nobody spoke when they broke apart. Mike left for food with a quiet question of "Pizza?" that went without a spoken answer. Bev and Ben curled together on a sofa, Stanley on Bev's other side, too close for anyone else, moulded against Bev's side. Bill took the other, still avoiding Eddie's eye. Eddie had a good idea why. He didn't hold it against Bill, or Bev. Or any of them. How could he? They faced down evil in corporeal form, and he knew how badly he'd been hurt. In the pit of his soul, he didn't know whether he could have made a different choice himself, were it someone else in his place.

Richie sank into the armchair, his face still dazed and pained, and Eddie couldn't bear it. He stood at the side, blinking down at him, until Richie met his gaze with soulful eyes. He didn't hide the depth of it, the agony. It looked up at Eddie from behind those dopey, chunky glasses. Eddie bumped Richie's knee with his, watched the momentary confusion pass his best friend's face.

Eddie didn't know how to express it. The ache, empty and cold, in his chest. The words for what he needed escaped him, so all he could do was nudge again, and wait. Watch Richie as he looked up at him, watch the tortured indecision in his eyes. It came to him then, and spilled from his mouth in a gentle murmur.

"You know the rule, Rich."

Richie shifted, looking surprised at himself, as though someone else had moved him. Eddie slid into the minute gap, crushing in beside him. Richie's arm slid round him, and he turned his face into Richie's chest, hands falling weakly in his own lap. Richie took his weight, shifting until they were both more comfortable, sharing the space made for one. His arm was warm and grounding, making Eddie feel safe. Richie's chin fell hesitantly atop Eddie's hair, and Eddie pressed a little into the contact. Richie squeezed him tightly.

Eddie drifted as the quiet murmurs were traded in the room. Richie's chest rose and fell steadily, settling a blanket of peace over Eddie's tortured thoughts. Before he knew it, Richie was brushing his hair from his forehead and calling his name.

"Eds, Mike's back. Pizza's here."

Eddie groaned and turned his face away from the sound.

"You know that's not my name."

Richie gave a hitched, weak chuckle.

"You love it." he answered, a touch of his old self leaking into the words, and making Eddie smile.

"That's not the point, and you know it."

Richie ruffled his hair and touched his forehead to Eddie's. When Eddie shifted to meet his eye, they shared a breath. It was right, some part of him knew, to have Richie looking at him like that. With that softness that had never been spoken, and never been strange. He felt it pulsing in his ribcage. For the first time, in all his life, he thought he might just know what it was. He'd heard it, in the raw screams. And it had answered itself, deeper in Eddie's soul than he'd ever dared tread before.

Richie gave his arm a squeeze.

"Pizza." he said again, making no attempt to move.

Eddie couldn't hear the others. Maybe they were there, maybe they weren't. Richie filled his limited vision, and that was enough. He gave a weak snort. Richie's mouth twitched. His hand crawled over and found Richie's by itself. He laced their fingers together, like they used to sometimes when they were kids. Richie didn't move, his eyes watching him. For a moment, Eddie did his best to focus on the sensation of his palm against Richie's forcing the thoughts from his head.

"I know, I think." he admitted softly, watching Richie's eyes, "What happened. I remember most of it."

The dark eyes wavered with pain, and Eddie gripped his hand hard.

"I know. And I don't- I don't blame anyone. For it."

Richie closed his eyes and swallowed. But Eddie wasn't finished, breathing the last of it out before he lost his nerve.

"Least of all you."

When Richie's eyes flashed open again, Eddie bumped their noses together.

"We thought… we thought you were.." Richie halted himself as his voice creaked and bent, but Eddie understood him.

"I know. So did I."

Someone somewhere laughed, and the spell was broken. Richie raised his head and looked off to one side, toward the door to the kitchen-come-diningroom. Eddie read his mind, and began untangling himself.

"Come on. Before Mike eats all the pepperoni."

Richie laughed properly then, letting Eddie tug him to his feet. They walked through close together, Richie's arm around Eddie's waist even though he probably didn't need the support anymore. It was a welcome weight. He still felt a little bit like he might float away if Richie let go.

Bev nudged out the chair next to her, giving Eddie a warm smile when he met her eye. He slid into it, wincing as he adjusted himself. Sitting straight aggravated his wound. Stan set a plate in front of him as Richie sat beside him. Bill was still avoiding his eye, and Eddie just couldn't find it in himself to indulge him. He'd been too close to death in that hellhole to walk delicately anymore.

"Bill?"

The Losers fell quiet at the commanding touch of steel in his tone. Bill did indeed look at him then.

"Quit it." Eddie told him, a little gentler, watching his eyes flicker, "You didn't know."

"E-Eddie…"

Eddie shook his head firmly even though it made his brain feel like it was bouncing around in a dryer.

"Quit it."

He flicked a glance at the redhead beside him.

"You too."

She turned pink and looked down at her plate.

Eddie looked around them all, forcing them to meet his gaze.

"All of you. Quit it _now_."

He reached past Richie for the pepperoni pizza box.

"Get over it," he added a little less gently as he dropped two slices on his plate, "it's done, and it wasn't anybody's fault."

Nobody else moved while he grabbed himself napkins before picking up a greasy slice. He looked up, raising an eyebrow challengingly.

"Don't make me yell at you." he asked, forcing a weak smile onto his face, "I don't have the energy today."

Richie gave a choked snort, before Ben giggled. Mike followed, Stan smiled and rolled his eyes. Bev reached out and squeezed his knee as she smiled. Eddie looked to Bill, and Bill looked back. The seconds seemed to drag until Bill gave in too.

"I'm glad you're okay." he said, soft and ashamed, and Eddie smiled for real that time.

"Believe it or not," he teased, taking a hot, wonderful bite, "I am too."

That did it. The Losers snickered and set out to fill their plates. Mike bartered Bill for the bacon on his slices. Ben passed Bev napkins with a soft expression. Stan pushed his curls from his forehead with a sigh and sank into his chair. Richie talked shit about the pineapple on Stan's pizza, and Stanley commented on once long-forgotten hawaiian shirts.

Eddie ate quietly, worn rough and exhausted. Richie's elbow brushed his every now and then, and Eddie was half-sure it was a purposeful attempt to remind he he was there. They talked. They talked about nothing, about their lives. Bev explained more about the marriage she'd just walked out of. Stanley told them about Patty, and how they'd never had children. None of them had had children, for reason or another. Ben said he might want them, in future, and Beverly gave him a secretive, doting smile.

Richie told them he was considering dumping his writers. Eddie told him it was the smartest thing he'd ever heard him say. Bill was quiet. Nobody mentioned Audra, but it was clear Bill didn't know how to feel about her. Mike talked about the future. He told them it wasn't something he'd given much thought about, beyond the knowing he'd kept all those years, that It would return. Bev brought wine from the bar. She set rum on the table. Ben opened beer bottles and passed them around the table.

The atmosphere was warm, but calm. Richie was quiet, and in turn the rest were quiet too. They migrated to the lounge again. Despite the space quite clearly available on the sofa, Eddie and Richie once again squashed in beside each other in the armchair. Eddie rested the back of his head against Richie's heart, the familiar, steady thump matching pace with his own in his ears. Richie's arm was loose around him, but it was there, and that was what counted.

They talked more. They talked about It. They talked about the past. They talked about painful things, and about how they kept It with them, even while not knowing they had. Mike asked Bev and Ben what their plans were, even though they had yet to specify they'd be making them together. There was a round of quiet congratulations when the obvious was confirmed. Mike said he was selling his home. He didn't know where he was going, but he was going anywhere else. Everywhere else, if he could. Bill told Mike he'd go with him. He needed to take a break, after Audra. Clear his head, see the world for what it was, with his blinkers finally removed.

Stanley simply said he'd be going home. He told them they'd all better be free for Hanukkah or he was going to hunt each of them down and do something horrible to them. Richie asked if that horrible thing would be tying them to chairs and lecturing them about birds, and Stan threw his balled up napkin at him with an exasperated expression. They all agreed to be there. They traded numbers, both home and mobile. They exchanged social media. They wove themselves into each other's new lives with a shared determination.

There would be no more forgetting. For Derry maybe, but not for them. They'd given too much to lose each other a second time.

Eventually, they all looked to Eddie expectantly. He was drowsy by then, warm, and feeling safer than he had since his phone had rung and Mike's voice had thrown his world right side up after he'd spent twenty seven years living in it upside down. He shrugged, the rough weave of Richie's sweater brushing against the exposed skin above his collar.

"I don't know." he answered honestly, blinking woozily.

He hadn't had nearly enough alcohol to feel the way he did, and far less than the others. But he was still weak from his escape, and drinking on substantial bloodloss probably had something to do with it. He realised that, and yet he still let the words tumble from his mouth.

"I don't want to go back."

The others looked between them, a mutual understanding. Nobody argued it. They _got_ it. All of them, his favourite six people in the entire fucking shitty universe. Maybe that's why he kept talking. Maybe that's why it all leaked from him, surprising him, shit he hadn't properly acknowledged in his own damn head. It all spilled out for them. Because he knew they'd get it.

"I think I want a divorce. I don't think I love her."

Bev's mouth tilted in sympathy. She knew that feeling. Eddie kept talking. He'd started, and he couldn't stop. There would never be a better time to admit it.

"I don't think I've ever loved anybody, except you guys. I don't think I've ever- ever needed anybody the way I need you guys. Like anybody else could fade away and I'd be okay, but not- not with you guys."

Richie's other arm slid around him in a loose hug.

"I think I hate my job. I _know_ I hate my job. I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to do something I enjoyed. And I ended up just falling into old habits, looking at everything like it was a potential danger, instead of something I could gain from."

Mike gave an understanding hum. Eddie's throat was dry and his lips were cracking, but he kept talking.

"I don't think I know who I am, anymore. I don't think I ever knew, unless I was was one of us. I never felt… I never felt like I fit anywhere else."

"Me either," Richie murmured when he took a breath, his voice quiet and warm against Eddie's hair. when he exhaled, "I don't have a single real friend in LA besides my manager, and I don't think he counts."

"I don't think I even like New York." Eddie admitted, shrugging helplessly as his voice began rising steadily with a tightness that spoke of his anxiety, "I don't like my house. I don't like my wife, or the furniture, or the decor, or - or any of it. I don't think I like my life."

Richie's arms tightened, crossing Eddie's chest to curl his fingers around the shorter man's arms. Eddie could hear the silent agreement, and appreciated the comfort in the gesture. He pressed a little further into Richie's embrace. It was the only thing that felt real enough to hold him in the room. He was lightheaded and exhausted, struggling to grasp hold of who he was. But Richie was a pleasant heat against his back, strong and sure and familiar, and Eddie could feel his eyes burn with tears at how overwhelmingly weak, and grateful he felt.

"I think we'll all be adjusting for a while." Mike answered levelly, his deep brown eyes meeting Eddie's with a clear understanding.

"We're here for each other," Ben murmured, looking genuinely between them all, "any of you need _anything_ , I'll be there."

Richie gave Eddie's arms a gentle squeeze, and Eddie slipped one hand up to tuck his fingers between Richie's. The other Losers echoed the sentiment, and Eddie's heart gave a tight squeeze. Conversation turned towards Mike's plans, as the others suggested where he might want to check out now that he was free to explore the world. Eddie closed his eyes and listened to them speaking, held close by his best friend as he sank into sleep.

~.~


	2. Chapter 2

Richie listened to the others, but their voices were faint and faraway. He felt like he'd been hit by a freight train for the second time in twenty-four hours. It was hard to really think, after everything. He couldn't quite believe that after he'd left the suffocating townhouse to breathe, to breakdown in private about the death of the best man he'd ever known, he'd come back to be told he wasn't really dead.

He didn't know if Eddie had realised it, but he _had_ been dead. Richie had known it. He'd fought against it, had refused to accept it. But he'd _felt_ it. He'd definitely felt it, when Eddie passed from life. He didn't know exactly how, one of the many inexplicable things that came with being a Loser, that came with It and the Turtle. He'd have taken Eddie with him anyway, if he could've. If Bev and Bill hadn't stopped him, if they hadn't hauled him from the tunnels. He'd been unhinged at the time, driven mad by it. He'd never have survived dragging Eddie with him. The others had been right, and he knew they had been.

Had they known? That leaving him would mean… Would he have lived, if they'd taken him from the collapsing lair? Or was it _because_ they'd left him that he'd survived? When he'd gotten back and they'd told him, Bev had said about the way his wound was sealed. He'd been hysterical. He could barely remember the journey back to the townhouse from the Quarry, even though he was showered and clean. He'd left again, wandered desperately, trying to escape the reality that was crushing down on him.

He'd grieved. Or he'd started. In the Quarry it had crashed upon him like a wave, the unquenchable realisation that It had taken Eddie from them. They'd fought their hardest, they'd done everything they could have, had used every trick the Turtle could give them, every step of the ritual. And it hadn't mattered, It had taken him anyway.

Right from Richie, from _right_ _there_ in front of him. Like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest fucking thing to destroy the best person Richie had ever known in his life. He didn't think it would ever be scrubbed from his head. And even as he'd left the townhouse again, striding away as though putting distance between himself and his friends would somehow help him breathe, he'd been unable to look it right in the face.

Eddie couldn't be dead. It was unimaginably wrong. Eddie was their compass, their doctor. Who was there to patch their wounds, if Eddie was gone? Sure, they were adults, now. They patched their own wounds. But what was the point, if Eddie weren't around to show them how?

They were supposed to have won. They'd given everything for the second time, faced the very worst the world had to offer them. They'd killed a fucking space monster, for good this time. It should have felt like a victory, he should have been able to collapse, exhausted, in the knowledge that they'd _won_. But he hadn't, had he? And they hadn't won.

Derry was deserted, like the whole town had up and disappeared like that settlement all the way back when. Richie had tried to escape it in a fog, and he'd ended up on the bridge. He should have known he'd find himself there. It was inevitable, inescapable. The old, wearing wood that creaked ominously under his feet like it always had. It was such an awful, ugly structure.

How had he ever thought, so naively, that it was a symbol of something good? The Kissing Bridge. Had it ever been good? Had anyone ever gone there, snot-nosed, acne-covered, wielding a knife they'd probably not even owned, to carve their secret into the sun-bleached wood, and not been afraid? Or had he been the only one, carving himself into Derry like he was selling it a piece of his soul, who knew it wasn't good?

He'd known, of course. What he was was wrong, in the eyes of Derry. It mocked him, hiding in his heart like a dark twisted piece of It. It had taken Richie a very, very long time to decide that he wasn't rotten. It was Derry, that was rotten. What he felt for Eddie, had always felt for him, was right. And he was sick of believing it wasn't.

He'd run his fingers down the faded carving. He'd forgotten them all, when he left Derry. He'd forgotten Eddie, locked his love for him up behind a hidden door in his soul and forgotten it too. But Derry had remembered, carved so carefully into the fibre of the stupid fucking bridge that mocked him so. He'd pulled the old pocketknife from his trousers, and he'd carved it deeper in farewell.

He almost didn't want to believe them, when they told him. When he stumbled back to the townhouse after drying his face and dragged all the pieces of himself back together, cramming them forcefully back together because he had to. Five pale, shocked faces, swinging so wildly from startled disbelief to unadulterated joy, and back, and forth.

Bev's hands on his face when she forced him to look at her, to see the dark smears on her shoulder from Eddie's clothes. Stanley's hand slipping into his to squeeze hard enough to crack his knuckles. Bill hanging back, looking tearful and haggard and guilty. The same way he used to when Georgie first went missing.

They knew now, he would bet, why he'd been unable to leave him. Bev knew. Stanley knew. Ben, with that pain in his eyes as he'd looked up so brokenly at Richie in the Quarry, Ben knew. Maybe Ben had always known. Maybe he'd always recognised it behind Richie's humour and his shit. Maybe they all had, maybe he hadn't been as good at hiding it as he'd always believed. Mike, who had never forgotten any of them, who had carried them all with him every fucking day of those twenty seven years.

Richie was sure they saw it, now. As he watched them all talking, hearing only half their words as his brain began shutting down in self-preservation, trying to build itself back together, he could see the frequent glances. They said nothing, but it didn't matter. It didn't need said. It might never need said, and that would be okay.

He'd never forget Eddie again, that much he was sure. He'd keep him tight in his heart, even if they parted ways again the way they had all those years ago. He'd remember, if he had to carve it into his skin like he had the Kissing Bridge. Even if it had to remain the secret it always had been. He lowered his face into Eddie's hair as his neck grew tired.

He was exhausted. They'd been through Hell. He'd put his body through the wringer. He'd put his heart through it, too. He was utterly drained dry, his friends were alive and safe, and Eddie had already succumbed to the pull of oblivion, breathing evenly in sleep. His fingers were still laced between Richie's, though they'd fallen into his lap. Eddie's hair smelled like something exotic, making Richie smile. Definitely not the shit the townhouse provided.

Eddie always had been prepared, carrying everything he could possibly ever need with him. Richie fondly remembered all the summer days he'd spent teasing him about his fanny-packs. He could remember, just as fondly, all the times Eddie'd preparedness had paid off, as his nimble fingers had supplied bandages, scissors, band-aids, sunblock, aloe, when they were needed. He'd probably been patched up more times by Eddie than his own parents, which was impressive for a kid as clumsy as Richie had been.

Eddie's hand twitched in his sleep, and Richie rested his forehead against the back of his friend's head to hide the kiss he pressed into his hair. Not that he really needed to hide. They knew, he was sure. He didn't think they'd say anything, not now. Maybe when they were younger. But it didn't matter. Nothing really mattered anymore, not when Eddie was still alive.

The night drew long, and Richie was content just to listen, Eddie asleep on his chest, as his friends shared more and more about their lives. As they reminisced over moments he couldn't believe he'd forgotten. Sleepovers Bev could never attend, birthday parties they'd shared with no-one but each other. Weekends at the arcade, afternoons in the Clubhouse. How could he have forgotten them, the only people he'd ever loved?

The only people who had ever made him feel like he belonged.

Eventually, Bev's voice roused him.

"Hey," she whispered, leaning over them both, "you look exhausted, Rich. Come on, let's get you both to bed."

Richie yawned foggily, and nodded. She took Eddie's weight. He wasn't much more than an inch taller than her, but she was stronger than she looked. She always had been. She could probably still kick all their asses, if she wanted.

Eddie didn't really wake, as they manoeuvred him onto his feet, and Richie ducked under one of his arms. He shared a look with Bev, and she gave him a gentle smile once he found his balance, and let them go.

"Goodnight, Rich."

Richie returned the smile, finally feeling whole again.

"Night, Bev."

"See you in the morning!" Mike called after him in a hush, and Richie turned his head to grin over his shoulder.

"You're joking, Mikey. Afternoon, at the earliest."

He left his friends chuckling in the lounge and walked Eddie carefully up the stairs to the hallway where their rooms were. His room was right down the end, of course. Eddie's was next to his, by some small miracle. Eddie murmured and muttered sleepily as they made their way down the carpeted hallways, and Richie made soothing noises and hoped he wouldn't wake fully before he got him to bed.

Eddie had always struggled at getting back to sleep after waking up in the middle of the night. Every little sound would wake him. Richie could remember many a tired morning because Eddie couldn't sleep and he, in his infinite wisdom and self-sacrifice, had elected to stay awake with him to keep him company. He shifted his grip as he turned the handle to Eddie's room, thankfully unlocked.

"Rich?"

Well, shit.

He guided Eddie inside, ignoring the lightswitch. This might still be salvageable if he kept the place dark.

"Shh, Eds. It's me. We're just getting you to bed, dude."

Eddie made a noise somewhere between a grumble and a yawn, and Richie felt his heart lift as he smiled. Eddie was alive, and okay. Everything was going to be fine. They still needed time to heal, and process, but they were all okay. Life was gonna be okay. For maybe the first time in his entire life, the future looked promising.

He untucked the ridiculously neat bedspread with the suspicion that Eddie had made it himself after checking in. His own was decidedly less tidy. Eddie sat down, slipping his arm from Richie's shoulders and yawning widely, turning sleep-blurred eyes his way. Richie grinned.

"Don't wake up. You'll never get back to sleep." he whispered soothingly, nudging Eddie backwards so they could swing his legs up.

"Rich."

"Mhm?" he hummed absently, pulling the blankets over his best friend, "Get some sleep, Eddie."

Eddie's eyes opened properly, and his hand caught Richie's sleeve. For a moment, the chocolate eyes looked into his and Richie felt a brief, nervous shiver run across the bottom of his spine. Eddie's brow was drawn down in a vague frown, and Richie watched his lips part to speak.

"Are _you_ okay?"

Richie blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but that wasn't it. He drew his sleeve through Eddie's fingers until their fingers linked, and squeezed. Eddie was looking closely at him, and could probably see through the reassuring smile he pasted on his face.

"Yeah." he answered, feeling like it might not even be a lie, now. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Eddie continued to peer at him, his jaw working as he chose which words to use. He discarded most of them, Richie guessed. The moment was long and quiet between them before Eddie sighed.

"Will you stay?"

Richie's heard stuttered and tripped into a new rhythm, but Eddie's grip was strong and sure in his, and he was waiting for an answer. Richie knew he probably shouldn't, but Eddie had never needed to try particularly hard to convince him to do anything. Richie had always just liked making him try, even knowing he'd cave, enjoying the game.

"Sure." he said thickly, and was rewarded by a tired, relieved smile.

He could feel Eddie's eyes on him as he shirked himself of his jacket and shirt, kicking off his shoes as he rounded the bottom of the bed. He could go to his room and change, but where was the need? He slept in a t-shirt and boxers anyway. Eddie looked far too tired to argue him into pyjamas like he used to when they were kids. They'd killed a fucking monster today. He could probably be forgiven.

He untangled his legs from his jeans, leaving them on the floor and untucking the empty side of the bed before slipping into the cool, clean sheets. Eddie turned to face him, watching him with tired eyes. Eddie's hand reached across the gap between them and took Richie's again, threading their fingers. They watched each other for a long moment, the sounds of their breathing only interrupted by the occasional faint splash of laughter from downstairs. The gentle quiet sank into Richie's skin, filling his veins with a drowsy fog.

Eddie reached out slowly with his free hand, his touch ghosting over Richie's cheek as he slipped his glasses from his face. He folded them carefully, reaching behind himself to set them on the bedside table. There was something about that that made Richie's stomach flutter. Eddie was less clear now, in the dark. He was just far enough away for his features to be blurred and softened. He waited, while Eddie watched him.

"I died, didn't I?" he whispered eventually.

Richie wasn't fast enough to hide his reaction. He could tell by Eddie's little intake of breath, and he grimaced back.

"You're here now, Eds. Maybe it's… better not to think about it."

Eddie let out a long, weary breath. Richie could smell the rum Eddie had sipped at for so long. He ached to draw Eddie close and tell him everything was going to be okay. But he wasn't sure that was what Eddie needed, or even wanted. So he kept still.

"I… I think I knew. Sort of. That I was dead. It's hard, to focus on it. The harder I try, the more it moves away."

His voice was climbing a little, squeezing with anxiety, and Richie squeezed the hand in his.

"Eds… you don't need to do this. Not right now. Maybe ever. It's okay."

"I can hear it all, though." Eddie continued as if he hadn't spoken, "The fight, the- the screaming. I could hear Bev crying, and Bill- Bill yelling at it. With his real voice, without the stutter. And Ben, and Stan shouting about the pipe, and-" he choked to a stop, tears spilling over.

Richie reached for his face, shifting closer and wiping them from his face with soft, hushing noises. Eddie wavered before leaning into the touch, fingers curling in Richie's shirt as he was pulled closer. Richie wrapped his arms around him and tucked his face into Eddie's hair.

"It's over, Eds. It's dead. We won."

"I heard you." Eddie sobbed, shaking his head from side to side, "I _heard_ it. I heard the- the _pain_ , and I- I heard- and I couldn't- I couldn't-"

"Eddie it's _okay_." Richie pleaded as the hurt cut into his heart, squeezing Eddie's shoulder blades, rubbing one hand in firm circles between the two jutting bones, "It's over. We won, shit, we _won_. You don't need to do this."

"But I _heard_." the wet voice sniffled back, cracking with pain, "And I couldn't even- Rich…"

Richie swallowed down the lump in his own throat. His heart was breaking to hear the pain in his best friend's voice. He blinked hard to dissuade the tears collecting in his lashes. He pulled Eddie just a little further into his arms and dipped his head to press their foreheads together.

"I know, Eds. I- I know. But it's done, and we got out, and we don't have to-"

Eddie tucked his face further down, pressing further against Richie as though for safety.

"I felt it."

Richie stopped talking. But Eddie didn't elaborate, sniffling against Richie's collarbone as he waited. Richie's heart was pounding, and he wasn't exactly sure he knew why.

"You felt…"

His mouth was so dry suddenly, his tongue thick and unwieldy in his mouth as he blinked into the darkness and waited, fear in his heart.

"I felt it when I died," Eddie whispered against his throat.

"Eds…" he winced.

"And I felt the pain, right here," his palm pressed softly against Richie's heartbeat, "and I knew it wasn't mine."

Richie swallowed. Tears were rolling from his cheeks. He'd lost the battle with them, and blinking them away did little to help. The question was so soft, such a faint breath that Richie couldn't wholly convince himself he'd really heard it as it hung in the inches between them.

"Was it yours?"

He could feel the warmth of Eddie's skin atop the fabric of his t-shirt, right where his heart lay. Eddie would easily be able to feel the way it was thundering in his chest. Hell, he could probably fucking hear it, it was beating so hard. There was no lying that he could do that Eddie would fall for. He didn't even think he wanted to lie, anymore. He didn't answer, and Eddie hummed a gentle sound, resting his cheek against the exposed skin at Richie's throat.

"I'm not going back to New York."

Richie's heart missed a beat or two.

"What?"

"I can run things at work from an office, I definitely have holidays I can take. Once everything's settled… I guess I'll sell up."

Richie pulled away, looking down through the blurry, grey shadow to meet Eddie's eye. The shorter man looked sure and confident, more than Richie was probably able to feel. He gave Richie a half-smile.

"What about." Richie halted, cleared his throat, his gaze wandering away because in the end the was a fucking coward, "What about."

Couldn't even say it, huh?

"I'm filing for divorce. She'll probably want the house, but I just don't care. I don't- I don't belong in New York. I never did. And I'm not going back, not after everything."

Richie closed his eyes and nodded. A silence fell between them that eventually grew sleepy, and Eddie yawned and shifted drowsily, turning in his arms until his back was flush against Richie's chest. He pressed back into the embrace, tugging Richie's arms around himself in a manner that was faintly bossy, reminding Richie of the Eddie he knew when they were younger.

"Demanding, as always." he murmured, out of habit, and Eddie just knocked him drowsily with an elbow and snorted.

He grinned into Eddie's hair and hugged him close.

"Where'll you go?"

Eddie yawned and shrugged, his hair tickling Richie's chin. The moment was gentle and soft and Richie had missed this, the them that they used to be. When things felt simple, when they snuck their sleeping bags close together because it used to help keep the nightmares at bay. Nights they had managed to weasel Eddie from his god-awful mother and curled together in Richie's bed, talking late into the night about anything and nothing.

He missed it. He'd _been_ missing it, in his life, without even knowing he'd ever had the kind of friend he craved. He hadn't lied, earlier. He'd never made a single real friend in his life since Derry. He hadn't even been aware just how lonely his life was until he was smacked in the face with the memory of the Losers he'd loved. He refused to lose them again. Maybe that's what fuelled his mouth.

He never did know when to shut up.

"I have a spare room in my place."

It came out gentle and unguarded, and the rawness scared him so much that he had to say something, anything else.

"Or a sofa, if you prefer."

Eddie gave a weak, sleepy chuckle and laced their fingers together again.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Richie barked a wobbly laugh and he just knew Eddie was grinning. Things were going to be okay, one way or another. He was damn-well going to make sure.

"I'll warn you now that my pantry has no organisation system. Shit goes where it goes. I hope you're prepared for that."

Eddie snorted and twisted his face as far around as he could to look at him in the dark.

"It has no organisational system _yet_." he corrected, and Richie definitely caught the grin as Eddie turned away again.

"G'night, Spaghetti."

Eddie's smile was audible as he murmured back, and Richie finally relaxed into the inviting arms of unconsciousness.

~.~


	3. Chapter 3

It's amazing what perspective surviving death can put on your life.

Suddenly, Myra's ability to cry on demand only reminds him of his mother. Suddenly, he was saying no, and _meaning_ it. Suddenly, her wheedling, sobbing voice on the phone didn't make his stomach drop to his toes and guilt ride up his back. Or at least, not enough to shake his conviction that he never wanted to see New York again. Even if it meant upsetting her over the phone instead of in person.

Maybe that was cowardly, and the people who used to know him would probably be sitting right there in New York, judging him for the way he went about it, but Eddie just didn't care anymore. Things that used to hold him in that vice grip of responsibility; pleasing Myra, pleasing his co-workers, being good at his job, the way his home declared his status as a successful man in finance, just… didn't, anymore.

He felt like he hadn't picked any of those things. His wife? Did he pick her, or did she pick him? The job? Was it just… something he could do, and decided to stay at? The house, God, he _hated_ the house all of a sudden. If it really had been him who'd picked his life, it was a version of him who had died in that cave. Or maybe even the moment he heard Mike's voice on the phone.

As Eddie had expected, Myra wanted the house once she realised crying for him to change his mind and come home to her wasn't working. She got angry and demanding, reprimanding him for what he was doing. She screeched and berated him for abandoning her, for _running out on her without a word_ , only to leave her by phone days later. She belittled him, questioned his morals and his loyalties and his intelligence, but Eddie just nodded and agreed. He'd already called the lawyer, a reminder for himself in case somehow he felt like she might change his mind. But he needn't have worried.

New York wasn't his home. The city he had lived in for all those years had never been his home. Hell, Derry had been more a home than there, if only because of the Losers.

Eddie was grateful that Richie seemed to know. He'd left Eddie washing up in the bathroom and retreated downstairs like he knew Eddie had to call right that minute just so it would feel over. Richie had always known things Eddie couldn't say, even all the way back when they were little kids. Although he pushed all the buttons he could, and knew them instinctively, he knew when to absolutely not push. Eddie swallowed all his exasperation at his situation, pushing aside the feeling of being out of his depth and reaching for the strength he'd forgotten he had.

He gave her the house. He left her the cars in their double-door garage. He promised her half of the company, when he could sell it. The lawyer said he could have the papers drawn up and faxed to the Derry Townhouse by the end of office hours. Eddie thanked him honestly, and hung up.

When he stepped out of the room, he felt like a door had finally been closed on something, and the feeling was… really freeing. Like maybe he was in control of his life in a way he'd never really been. The way it used to feel after they defeated It as kids, when suddenly he wasn't scared of his mom so much, when he knew better who he was. Before he left Derry and forgot all about himself.

He watched his sneakers take him across the worn old carpeting. He couldn't remember packing sneakers, but some part of him had packed on autopilot and he was glad. The staircase smelled like sugar and the closer he got to the source, the more the smell drew him forward like enticing him into a comforting hug. He was the last one to arrive in the kitchen, where the atmosphere was warm and welcoming and made his throat feel a little tight. Nobody noticed him at first and so he paused in the doorway, just to look at them all with what felt like new eyes.

Ben stood confidently at the stove with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to the elbows, looking even more comfortable and sure in blue jeans than he had in pressed trousers. He was grinning widely, eyes warm and kind as Eddie could remember him always being. He had the handle of a frying pan in one hand, and his other thrust out against Richie's chest as the ganglier male tried to dip into his space to steal something from one of the bowls on the counter. Richie was arguing brightly, his voice all leaping outrage through his laughter.

Richie looked fittingly sloppy, as seemed he always would, naturally scruffy like they were still kids in his slim dark jeans and a bright green t-shirt. The hoody was a faded orange that clashed horrifically, and made Eddie smile faintly. Stanley was a stark comparison looking at home in his impeccably ironed trousers as he always did, though his sweater vest was missing and the top two buttons of his oxford button-up were neatly undone at his throat. He was reading the newspaper and seated at the table, but his mouth had a gentle curve that showed he was listening.

Bill was staring out the window, looking thoughtful. As a child, Eddie had never pictured Bill as one for softly knitted cardigans and cotton trousers, but the look suited him. Beside him, Mike was talking to Bev, dressed in muted earthy cottons that gave him a librarian feel that Eddie rather loved. Beverly was radiant, and she wore the pastel blue skirt and simple yellow blouse in a way models must envy. She had never needed to try to look comfortable in her skin, Eddie remembered suddenly. She just always had been. He remembered her as a slim girl in braids and cut-off dungarees, beautiful in a natural, good kind of way. She was the same now, a tempered elegance that couldn't be faked.

Eddie cleared his throat softly as he crossed the threshold, slipping into the seat beside Bill as his heart gave a long ache and his friends turned to smile at him. This was what love looked like. Right here, gathered around this one table. These were the people he should have been building a life with all these years, not Myra, not his colleagues or his clients, not New York, but the Losers Club. It had always only been them.

Richie met his eye across the room and his outrageous grin softened at the edges when he quirked his head marginally to one side in question. Eddie blew out a small breath and smiled genuinely back and Richie seemed to brighten, throwing himself right back into his theatrics as though uninterrupted.

"Eds, my love, tell this monster to let me have a marshmallow!" he pouted, pushing back against Ben in vain.

" _Monster_." Eddie snorted sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "You're just being a baby."

While Richie played wounded and the others laughed, Bev slid a mug across the table to him and smiled as her eyes studied him for a second. They were as green and inquisitive as ever, looking right through any pretences before she nodded, satisfied.

"How are you feeling?" Mike asked, bumping Bill with his elbow and waking the man from his stupor.

"Better." Eddie answered, shaking his head when they offered him sugar but allowing Bill to pour milk into the coffee Bev had already filled the mug with, "Still can't quite believe I'm here, but definitely better."

Bill's arm slid cautiously over Eddie's shoulders, and he leaned briefly into the half-hug. His eyes were still reserved and shy when Eddie met them, but he gave him a grin and everything was okay when Bill returned it bashfully.

"That Turtle would have some explaining to do, if it existed on the correct plane." Stan hummed, folding the newspaper over to rest on his empty plate.

His navy eyes ran over Eddie's face, shrewd and calculating as though he were searching every line of his face for answers. Eddie cocked an eyebrow after a moment, sipping from his mug in amusement, before Stan seemed satisfied too.

"I missed you." Stanley said simply before turning back to the paper, and Eddie couldn't help but chuckle.

"I missed you too."

Renewed commotion at the stove drew everyone's attention and eventually Mike stood to manhandle Richie away, dumping him comically in the empty seat next to Eddie with an exaggerated huff.

When Richie looked to Eddie with an open mouth, waving his hands and looking for back-up, Eddie only reached over and tucked a napkin into the collar of his t-shirt and sat back with a wide grin.

"There," he announced proudly, "A bib for the baby."

Richie squawked and got in his space, poking and shoving but mindful of his shoulder, while their friends howled with laughter. Ben made to round the table with the pan, aiming for Eddie no doubt, but the man himself waved his hand at Bev instead.

"Ladies first, Ben."

Ben flushed a lovely pink and tried to frown, but it didn't quite work. He didn't look too put out, either, to serve Bev first, sliding golden, fluffy pancakes onto her plate with a muted flourish and beaming when she kissed his cheek in thanks.

"Typical!" Richie wailed, crossing his arms and looking every bit the toddler Eddie had teased him to be, completing the look by jutting his lip out ridiculously, "Haystack getting all the babes."

Bev's laugh was lovely and rich above all the others, and her eyes glittered when she turned them Richie's way.

"If I recall, Richie, _you_ were the one always regaling us with stories about your _babes_."

Stanley snickered, penning something into one of the puzzles without looking up, but his smirk was evident and taunting. Richie only grinned unabashedly and shrugged in faux modesty.

"What can I say? They never could resist this Tozier charm."

He wiggled his eyebrows wildly while everyone groaned, and finally his gaze dropped to Eddie as the noise died down a little. Eddie rolled his eyes and shoved him preemptively with a drawn out groan. Richie snickered, the dark of his eyes made large behind his chunky glasses as his grin grew wider and wider and Eddie was hit by a familiar kind of twist in his belly.

"Hey, whatever happened to Mrs K? She and I used to be _tight_ , if you get my meaning."

Eddie shoved away the arm that dropped causally onto his shoulder and scowled.

"That's even fucking _funny_ , dickwad."

Richie laughed, but instead of chasing the joke like he used to he just looked away, reaching for his own cooling mug. Eddie continued to watch him as conversation rose again between Mike and Bill, but Richie was leaning a little away to watch Stanley do the crossword.

Richie's face was angular and scruffy, his jaw darkened by at least a three-day stubble and his eyes darkened by sleepless rings that looked like fading bruises. Even though he'd seen Richie's show on the TV sometimes, he couldn't remember if it had ever looked familiar. Sure, it was striking, in a way that Eddie didn't typically find people, but as he looked at it now it felt as familiar as his own. More familiar, even, than any of the faces he saw regularly in New York.

And yet, it was like looking at his friend inside a stranger's skin. It was definitely Richie, most definitely the boy he'd grown up with, now matured - physically, at least - and, as Bev had once told them all years ago, grown into his looks. It was strange, and yet he couldn't picture him any other way.

"Eddie?"

He turned at the sound of his name, smiling at Mike when the plate was offered to him.

"Thanks, Ben."

Their cook just grinned widely, delicately proud, and poured more batter into the pan. Eddie collected cutlery from the neat pile in the centre of the table and cut a neat square from the buttery dough, practically sighing from contentment as it began melting on his tongue. Richie, of course, only rapped him sharply on the ribs and ruined the moment.

"You're not eating them _bare_!?" he yowled, looking like Eddie had mortally offended him when he was shot a confused look, "Oh come on, Eds, you can't insult good food like that!"

"Don't fucking _dare_." Eddie replied, one arm curling protectively around his plate when Richie reached across the table for the syrup, "I am _warning_ you, Tozier, don't- _Hey!_ "

Richie ignored him completely, propping one elbow on Eddie's shoulder and dumping what looked like half an ounce of syrup onto his plate, merely brushing aside the outraged shriek of his shorter friend.

" _Richie_! You dick. You fucking _dick_."

Richie only looked pleased with his work as he clicked the cap back in place and set the bottle aside, his face lit with childish glee when Eddie smacked him pretty hard on the shoulder with a growl.

"Come on dude, what the hell?"

Richie only chuckled at the whine and ruffled Eddie's hair instead, leaning close to peer obnoxiously at the scowl the shorter man was struggling to keep hold of in the face of such sheer familiarity. They'd done this a million times as kids. Richie daring into Eddie's space with bad behaviour and obnoxious acts, boldly touching and pawing and shoving to rile him up into an argument that was as natural to them both as the beat of their own hearts.

Eddie realised he'd missed it. He couldn't even remember Richie a week ago, but he _missed_ him so fiercely it hurt. It ballooned desperately in his chest and yet the words escaped him once more. He tried, anyway, to say it.

"You're an asshole." was what came out, but Richie's laugh didn't fully mask the softened edges of the leering grin, and Eddie knew he'd been heard.

Richie hooked him once more with an arm, pulling their chairs closer together despite Eddie's protests, and helpfully snagging his own fork to help Eddie clear the gooey, sugary mess cooling on his plate. Eddie bitched and scrunched his nose, but Richie fell back into conversation with Ben easily and nobody seemed to think the situation was all that unusual, because chatter started back up like it hadn't stopped.

They began talking plans. Not just the vague plans of last night, but real plans, the plans of sober adults who understood that life didn't stop just because they'd killed the trans-dimensional monster that had tried to eat them as kids. Eventually Ben had everyone fully served, with a pile of second helpings plated in the middle of the table when he finally joined them.

"I'm just glad I never signed co-ownership over." Bev was saying, her tongue darting out to catch the powdered sugar that dusted her lip, "I mean, he always insisted but we kept forgetting…"

Eddie's stomach flared with anger at the mere mention of her appalling piece of shit ex, and burned fiercely as his mind raced with ways he could help.

"That's good," Stanley said gently, flicking Richie a scandalised look when the comedian tried to land a mini marshmallow on his plate, "at least that's a battle you don't need to fight when you get back."

"Yeah," she sighed, her worried lip smoothing out, "that's true."

"And I'll be there," Ben reassured, reaching out to take her hand is a subtle and endearing gesture, "if he wants to start anything."

"We could all be there." Mike said suddenly before he glanced around sheepishly, realising he might have just volunteered them all.

"No offence, Mikey," Richie snorted, smearing a chunk of pancake around Eddie's plate even though he had his own now, "but we're not all built like you two if shit goes south."

He gestured the table, mouth quirking as he took the bite and talked with his mouth full, much to Eddie's loud disgust.

"Do you fucking have to?" he grumbled, swatting at him.

"You love it." was the prim response that earned a glare.

He looked away, however, when Richie simply swapped their plates. Eddie's ire faded considerably. But then of course, Richie dumped a pool of syrup on his side and gave him an almost embarrassed half-grin. Eddie rolled his eyes heavenward, sighing defeatedly and feeling his face heat decidedly when Stan caught his eye on the journey back down.

Eddie wasn't an oblivious late bloomer, anymore. He knew what implication lay in the knowing look in Stanley's eye, and chose to gracefully ignore it. Maybe he'd always known back then too, but. He'd like to believe it hadn't been like that. The more that came back to him about their summers all together, the more that heat in his face and in the depths of his belly made sense to him. But he boxed it carefully, a puzzle for a later date.

"I just mean," Mike was saying as he looked between them in amusement, "that if any of us were free to, it might make a difference if we could spare the time."

Eddie hummed in reluctant agreement. Volunteered by the gentle suggestion or not, he had to admit Mike had a point. He swayed for a second while the others weighed it over, but hell. He'd almost died in a fucking cave after spending half his life analysing risks for assholes in offices. It was time to start taking some, instead.

"If you need help to move stuff, I like to drive." he said softly, glancing up just in time to catch her sea-green eyes turn his way, a familiar expression crossing her face.

She'd given him that look so many times, he remembered, the one where her whole face seemed to lose some of its fearless confidence and turn gentle and motherly, affectionate. The smile she gave him then was small but it was real and vulnerable.

"You don't have to do that, Eddie. You've got your own… stuff going on."

It decided him, and he nodded firmly.

"Yes I do. And I want to. Whatever you need."

"Oh, Eddie." she said, her voice wobbling a little as she got out of her seat and rounded the table to hug him, "You're too good."

She smelled sweet and delicate, belying the real strength Eddie knew she had. He hugged her back firmly as she pressed her face into his shoulder.

"I love to drive, Bevvie." he murmured into her hair as it tickled his nose, and when she drew back and kissed him on the cheek, he gave her the biggest smile he could muster, "And I have a mean sense of direction."

She giggled almost wetly when she drew away properly, but she looked him in the eye and nodded.

"Okay."

He grinned and squeezed her arms gently before letting go, and in return she gave him the smile again.

"Okay. I'd really appreciate that."

Eddie felt something in his stomach loosen once she'd sat down again and realised that it had given him his next goal, after signing those papers tonight and faxing them back. If it hadn't been for Richie skipping ahead and solving the next problem of where the hell Eddie was going to live, he'd probably be feeling a lot less okay right now. As if he needed another reason to appreciate the ridiculous man beside him.

"What about you, Eddie?" Bill asked kind of slowly, and Eddie shot him a look for the way his voice sounded.

Hesitancy, like he was afraid he wasn't allowed to ask. Bill reddened, but he looked away and then came back, and Eddie rolled his eyes as his own mouth smiled. It didn't need said. He was okay, and he didn't blame Bill. Bill was putting all this responsibility and guilt on himself, and though it frustrated Eddie to no end, he knew it was only because Bill had a good heart and took his role as their leader seriously, and so Eddie loved him for it too, in a way.

When he didn't answer right away, the arm draped lazily on the back of his chair curled a little further around his shoulder.

"What's the plan, Spaghetti Man?"

Eddie looked at him, and his heart pattered sweetly in his chest. Richie's grin was wolfish on the surface, lighting faint mischief in his eyes, but he was watching Eddie steadily. Just because they'd exchanged a couple words in the secrecy of exhaustion in the small hours of the morning didn't mean it had to stick. Richie was giving him an out, leaving it up to him, and Eddie appreciated it so much that his throat tightened a little bit with emotion. Which was stupid, of course, it was just an offer of a place to crash, but… Richie was handing him control because he knew he needed it, without anything needing to be said, and Eddie would never let himself forget this man again.

He was far too _good_.

"Well," he started, glancing at them all a little nervously, "I called a lawyer."

They looked at him encouragingly, and he gave a nervous laugh, unsure why he was so worried. When Stanley made a noise of encouragement, Eddie just let it all walk itself right out of his mouth.

"He's gonna fax me papers by the end of the day. I gave her the house, and I guess she can do whatever with everything in it, since I don't want any of it. I called my office. They're gonna route any important calls to my cell, and I'm cashing in all the time off I've been ignoring."

Mike covered a short laugh with a cough and Eddie felt himself blush a little because it was true, that did sound just like him, ignoring time off. He shot Richie a glance, and laughed himself as his gaze dropped to his mug a little shyly.

"Richie's gonna put me up till I can find my feet."

There were instant sounds of appreciation, and Eddie was further relieved that it didn't sound like a dumb idea to anyone else. Richie squeezed his shoulder as he made some comment about Eddie moving in to be his maid, and laughed when Eddie cuffed him on the back of the head in protest. His dark eyes met Eddie's again and the weight in the shorter man's chest lifted easily. He gave Richie a chagrinned smile and rolled his own eyes.

"It'll probably kill me," he amended, grinning at Stanley when the accountant laughed, "but I just fucking hate New York."

Everyone made confident sounds of agreement, and Ben raised his mug in toast, demanding that they all clink their hot drinks together in acknowledgment of new plans and moving forward.

"To the Losers Club, and to finally living our _real_ lives." was how he phrased it, and they all agreed.

To real lives, indeed.

~.~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another monster down.
> 
> The boys face down the trashed apartment, Bev gets back her spark, and that's one more real life in motion.
> 
> Happy Reading!

"You weren't kidding about the clothes," Richie huffed, giving in to the burning in his arms and setting the box on the pavement to splay his hands on his lower back and stretch into the twinge of discomfort, "Jesus H Christ, Marsh."

The Bev of two hours ago would have laughed at him, but right then she was looking at him with her eyes touched by that tell-tale wideness and her bottom lip was beginning to look gnawed between her teeth. She was doubting again, that much was obvious. Eddie had seen it too, because he beat Richie to the punch when he snorted and squeezed past on his way to the open back of the moving-van.

"It's like listening to a kid whine." he complained teasingly, setting his own box on the van floor and shoving it forwards into an empty space before returning to nab Richie's, "Like _you_ were kidding about being 'totally in shape for this, I swear', hm?"

Richie reacted like a responsible adult, of course. By sticking his tongue out pointedly, and then waggling it left and right for effect when all Eddie did in return was raise an unimpressed eyebrow. His eyes rolled to the late morning sky when he climbed into the back and shoved the boxes down one wall, and Richie's pointed laughter when he jumped back down was met with a familiar scowl.

"You don't have to do any more, Richie." Bev put in next, her expression apologetic, "Really, you've been a great help and I..."

Richie reached out and took hold of the hands she was gesturing with, closing both between his own palms and rubbing his thumbs over the soft, cool skin at her knuckles. It halted her tongue, but her brows still wavered over her eyes as she looked at them both. Cloudy green and filled with worry, they darted past him to Eddie when he crowded up beside them.

"Don't you chicken out on me now, Bevvie." Eddie answered her, his voice losing all its banter and forming a warm and gentle sound as he joined them, "This is the right thing you're doing."

Beverly looked almost torn before the look bled out of her eyes. Her shoulders fell a little, the tension she'd ben building up dissipating like it hadn't even been there. She nodded, drawing her hands away to wrap her arms around herself, her mouth doing that little flickering thing it always had when she was touched by what had been said and her face softening prettily. Richie loved Eddie for always being the best at doing that to her, for being the best at sneaking up close and making her cave. Richie could remember that when they were kids, Eddie was so reluctant with his own feelings, so afraid to show he was vulnerable, but he'd always been able to talk Bev down better than any of the rest of them. When Eddie felt his eyes on him and glanced up, Richie shot him an admittedly gentle smile.

"Come on," he agreed with a chuckle, "before people start wondering what the fuck we're doing, standing here like this."

That made her smile, a sound almost like a laugh gurgling in her throat. Richie let her go when she pulled away, but she'd only taken one step away before turning back and throwing her arms decisively over them both, thrusting up onto her toes to press one swift kiss on each of their faces and crush them together with surprising strength.

"I don't know what I'd do without you boys." she said when she was back flat on her feet and looking like a graceful sea of calm all at once again.

"Break a nail hauling a warehouse worth of clothes down two flights of stairs." Richie quipped, and although he failed to dodge her indignant smack, he grinned at the smile on her face.

"Dinner's definitely on me." she said as they followed her back upstairs, and she was laughing by the time she had to pseudo-dance with Bill when they passed him on the stairs with his own box.

Beverly's apartment was classy, that much had been clear to them all the moment they'd arrived. A neighbour that Bev trusted enough to ask about her ex-fiancé had confirmed on the phone that he wasn't currently home, and it was a gentle reminder to the members of the Losers Club that not everyone in the world was out to get them. Stanley had bid his farewell last night at the airport with an apology even though nobody among them thought he should put off returning to his wife, who was worried sick at the conspiracy of secretive phone calls and vague answers of what he'd left so suddenly for. But he was already working closely with the lawyer Bev had picked out, and he'd promised her with a wry tilt in his lips that by the time the whole thing was over, it'd be Tom paying out of pocket the lion's share of the expense of her life upheaval.

It seemed a fair price, to the Losers Club. Fuck the guy, he was bonafide asshole who deserved it.

Richie thought that crazy boyfriend aside, the place suited her. The carpeted floors were done in plush navy and then sienna shag you could sink into, the walls in warm golds and pretty autumn shades. Everywhere he looked there was fabric, elegant fringes on the lamps, rich woods in the furniture. There was mess everywhere though, that _didn't_ suit her. Signs of a struggle, folks would call it it. Beverly didn't give them any explanation but they all read her glancing eyes well enough as they followed her through the front door. There didn't need to be words.

It may not have been a bloodied bathroom, and they may not have been awkward kids anymore, but as they stood in the room and passed that old look between themselves, it sure felt similar. They broke off in different directions with a shared mood of calm determination, picking corners to start cleaning up the destruction once more.

Beverly hovered anxiously as though she was afraid to really start until she was directed, Ben asking a question about the contents of the bookcase. Bill and Mike logged furniture pieces and eventually their waving hands got the message through to Bev that her apologies were unnecessary. They worked in near-silence, like one large machine with independent parts all connected. Like they always had before. Richie passed around trash bags for the shit that was broken and Eddie bitched about the guy he'd never met while he swept little shards off glass from various corners of the bedroom floor when the three of them started in there.

Richie elected not to help pack the glass bottles of perfumes and other fragile shit, but Bev made use of his height in the walk-in closet, so he made short work of clearing all the shelves. Ben had sourced boxes, had arranged in the early hours to have them hauled across the state by someone from his office too, and the kid who dropped them off even stayed to help. (The Beverly Marsh who makes the dresses? My sister _raves_ about your stuff!) He was young, to be expected of the one landed with the legwork of a personal errand for the boss - holy shit, Haystack was this kid's _boss_ , what the fuck - but he seemed pleased to be of use, and Richie wasn't really surprised. Ben was the kindest person any of them had ever met in their lives, there was no doubt he employed that in his role of boss man, too.

The kid - Craig, his name was Craig, holy shit are you _thee_ Richie Tozier? - took Bev into the kitchen for a cup of tea a couple hours in when she was getting wound up, returning with a more serene Bev and assorted mugs on a tray for everyone else. Richie liked the kid. Ben picked good employees. Bill and Mike tackled the large room off the dining room, what once might have been an office but had been stripped back into a large workspace for Bev. It was fairly obvious what was hers, Bill had assured her with a laugh when she was hovering nervously. And if they took anything that was Tom's, they could mail it back no problem once they got her to Ben's, right?

They hadn't actually gotten as far as talking about where she was _taking_ all her stuff, but Ben only nodded with a pleasant little smile as though they'd already decided that, and Bev was too busy being pink and overwhelmed to argue it much. Richie had pointed out helpfully that if they _did_ happen to pack anything of Tom's by mistake, who the fuck cared. (Personally he'd already boxed three left shoes that looked shiny and expensive and important, not that Bev had seen.) He'd expected an elbow in the ribs when Eddie's head turned up towards him, but it hadn't come. Eddie had only nodded, and backed him up. That had been kind of nice. Never fuck with a Kaspbrak, he'd said. Eddie had rolled his eyes but there was a smile when he turned away.

As afternoon came and started to wane, they were pretty much done before being interrupted by a tan guy with dark hair and an unpleasant smile made of teeth so straight Richie felt a surprising urge to knock them out of his face. It dropped quickly as he filled the room with the testosterone practically rolling from his shoulders, but at first he seemed more confused by the lack of fear or submission when he looked around, and what might have been a huge scene really… wasn't.

Richie let Eddie usher him out with the last of Bev's coats slung over his arms after he made a loud comment about the fading bruises on the otherwise perfectly sculpted face, the shorter man keeping one eye on the indignant intruder while he snatched up Bev's purse from where she'd left on the kitchen counter. When they got outside they'd find that Mike had gotten Bev in the cab of the van the second the guy came into view, and he'd stormed right past them all without even seeing her.

"You can't come in here and take shit!" the guy screamed when he realised they were continuing on their way, right in Bill's face when the author was collecting the last few binders from the workshop that hadn't fit in any of the boxes.

Bill just glanced to Eddie instead of engaging further. He was the picture of serene calm as though he was channeling Beverly herself and set the binders on top of the last box that Eddie pointed to, before lifting the lot in an unhurried sweep of his arms.

"Take it up with her lawyer." he answered after a beat, smooth as could be.

Richie was proud of him, because they'd all spent days being angry for her, and Bill didn't give the guy the pleasure of letting it show. Richie followed Bill out the door, all three ignoring the guy standing in the centre of the room yelling at the top of his lungs about calling the cops and demanding to _see her_. Eddie rolled his eyes when Richie pushed back into the doorframe for just a second to flip the guy the double bird from under the coats, but his smirk was a gloriously smug Kaspbrak special as he closed the door on the guy and followed Richie down the stairs.

And that really would have been it, if the asshole had known when to admit defeat. But he hadn't, storming down a full minute later when Mike was locking the back of the van and Eddie was shoving Richie half-heartedly while he tried to clamber up into the cab to crush between him Bev. The guy flew down the stone steps two at a time, his face a caricature of scorned and enraged, spittle flying from his lips as he charged at Mike as the closest target.

Richie would never again believe that Ben Hanscom was not capable of violence. When the guy slammed Mike into the back of the vehicle and raised his fist, Ben swung at him so hard and fast out of nowhere that he knocked the arrogant bastard flat on his ass on the sidewalk. Richie gaped at him in shock, and then delight, as Ben simply stood there in his jeans and t-shirt, looking as surprised as everyone else about it. Silence fell. It felt like maybe the whole street was watching them from their windows, suddenly, the oppressive weight of a thousand eyes bearing down on them. A moment suspended, a coin ready to fall.

Felt a lot like a Tozier cue, is what it did. Richie brushed past Eddie, who was still holding the open door of the cab and staring at Ben in awe, and took gentle hold of Ben's arm to tug him away before the look he could see creeping into Ben's eyes compelled him to apologise for what he'd done. He hauled Ben towards the other side of the vehicle, Mike moving off to join Bill in the car in front. When Tom made a noise like maybe he was considering getting up, Richie pinned him with a sour look. He felt the moment shifting and he knew they'd won another victory. The words came out easily, tipped with acerbic toxins meant to really twist the knife. An echo of a long-gone summer afternoon.

"Welcome to the Loser's Club, asshole."

He turned on his heel to throw his gangly limbs into the cab beside Bev, who was coiling real small in Ben's arms looking more relieved than anything else, and hooked his arm around Eddie the second the shorter man landed in the seat beside him with the satisfying snap of the door closing behind them. Mike's car followed the pale blue sedan of the kid who lead the way, and despite all the bitching Eddie did about the health hazard of having four of them sharing the cab of the van that was really only big enough for three - and _no_ he wasn't fucking sharing his seatbelt, that _wasn't a solution_ , was Richie crazy? - he didn't take too long turning on the radio and forgetting all about the dickhead who'd made Bev miserable.

They passed several moments decompressing in the mindless sound of old music on whatever station Eddie had absently found, before the grin spreading over Richie's face refused to be ignored any longer.

"So what a right hook."

Bev gave a groan that turned into a nervous giggle halfway through, burying her face in Ben's shoulder as she played along, hiding from his exuberance. Eddie snorted, amusement toying on his lips. When Richie turned to Ben with a raised eye in exaggerated query, the man flushed a delightful pink and turned his eyes deliberately to the road. Fool, as if that could save him. Richie reached over Bev to punch one broad shoulder, whooping as loudly and ridiculously as he could. Ben only looked further embarrassed, his eyes flicking to Richie's with a shyness that Richie couldn't believe he'd forgotten could exist.

"You been holding out on us, Haystack!"

"Shut up, Richie." was the pleasant answer.

Richie only grinned wider as he was watching the red deepen on Ben's face and the sweet way that Bev's expression softened and glistened when she looked up at him, and his stomach was just flooded with all those good feelings. He was obnoxiously happy for them. What could have been a disastrous interruption to their extraction mission had been but a blip on the radar, and now he had Bev safely next to him giving goo-goo eyes to Ben and Eddie driving them across the state to deliver her to her new life, and everything was kind of just _great_ in a way his life hadn't been in… fuck, maybe ever. Jeeez, he was kinda giddy with it.

It almost felt like they were back in time, feeling right and happy just having each other nearby and safe after dragging each other out of the sewer. When songs came on he belted them loudly and off-key and his friends couldn't hide all their humour beneath their dying wails until eventually he broke them all three and they began joining in.

" _Weeeeeennndddyyyyyyyy! Wendy left me aaallooooooooone!_ "

"That's fucking ancient!" Bev cried, her eyes crinkled with her laughter as she slapped weakly at him hollering in her ear.

"Richie! Oh my _god!_ Stop it!"

He persisted, leaning far too close into her space and practically howling the words as she fell apart, unable to stifle her laughter even when it became erratic and almost hysterical, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes as Ben just looked on, fond and amused. Eddie's bitching was loud but his voice was blatantly amused and Richie swung on him next, watching the laughter in his eyes turn to theatrical dread as he shrieked about the road when he ducked away.

The van barely even swerved as he jerked the steering wheel but Richie decided he had a point, so he gave him a heavy look that promised sufficient antics later and turned his face to the ceiling to yowl the rest of the words to the Beach Boys song that _was_ ancient, and yelping in delight when what came on next was equally ancient and heavy with guitar that served as the perfect excuse for him to swing his arms around wildly.

"Lord Almighty! I feel my temperature rising!"

"Nooooo!" Bev squeaked with a shoddily crafted look of disgust on her face.

But she joined him, her chin lifting and her neck arching like a pale swan as she did. Her eyes were lit with sunshine fire and she was stunning, wrapped in lazy-day clothes and Ben's hoody despite the mountains of clothes they'd rescued from her apartment, her hair bunched messily in fierce red ringlets that spilled from the scrunchy she'd thrown them in.

"Higher higher! It's burning through to my soul!"

He waggled his face in hers and she pushed back, their noses almost touching as she sang with him, joy leaking from her every inch. They were shouting loud enough to hurt their ears but didn't care. This was how they used to be. He missed those long afternoons being too loud with Bev, screeching songs they barely knew at the top of their lungs, making up the words when they drew a blank. She'd been the fire in a lot of his days. He missed her.

"Girl, girl, girl, you're gonna set me on fiiiire!"

Her lips curled wickedly as she hollered back, and he wondered if she was thinking of the past, like he was.

"My brain is _flamin_ ', I dunno which way to go!"

Richie's heart soared to see her so happy, to see the morning's worries melted away and her spark back there where it belonged. He loved her fiercely, and seeing her look like the world had been lifted from her shoulders made _him_ feel freer too. Ben joined on an _ooh_ , making it long and elegant like a rough wolf howl, and when his eyes met Richie's he was happy then, too.

"You light my morning sky, burning love!"

They continued on like that, like children singing in the car on a road trip, and that's what it felt like. It was warm, rushing over their skin like magic, Richie could feel it. And he knew the others could feel it by the way Eddie's arms grew loser, the way his shoulders bopped against Richie's on the beat. Their energy was contagious, swirling round and round the small space like a secret and a promise and it made every inch of Richie simply want to burst from it.

They'd killed a monster and lived to tell the tale, and now they'd slain Bev's own monster and rescued her from the chill of her castle tower to whisk her away to the fresh life she'd earned in blood. It made Richie feel invincible, thinking of how Eddie had slain _his_ personal monster all by himself, of how he was trusting Richie to help him finish the job of grasping _his_ new life, too. It felt like they could all slay more monsters, why stop at just one? Why not those three? Why not more?

Why not, soon, his own?

~.~


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filler Fluff?
> 
> Filler Fluff.
> 
> Happy Reading!

"Casa del Tozier!"

He winced from his place slightly behind, the bright volume of the taller man's voice somehow far more than Eddie's jet-lagged brain could handle, despite all the practice he'd had recently. It'd been more pleasant than not to be glued to Richie's hip or vice versa this last week, a comfortable role laced heavily with nostalgia that they'd slipped into so easily it almost felt unreal. But between fielding phonecalls from friends - not-friends, not ever, not _now_ , - in New York who had heard the news already and the draining power of just existing in Derry, and then the delayed flight and the long-haul, Eddie was _exhausted_.

So exhausted, it seemed, that he hadn't a cutting retort for Richie. The best he could muster was a mere groan. Richie seemed unperturbed anyway, flashing Eddie that grin as he pushed open the door and stepped inside, leaning back against it to give Eddie a view of the hallway. Despite his increasingly foul mood, Eddie was startled enough to find the place looked _nice_ , that whatever else he might have said was gone anyway.

That was Richie's chance to snatch the suitcases Eddie had insisted he himself were capable of hauling around all day. Before the shorter man could even react Richie was striding through the house, leaving him to follow behind after carefully closing the front door.

The hallway was simple. Hardwood floor met the white kick board below stylishly painted walls in a warm, muted sienna. Eddie wasn't really one for any kind of interior decorating, evident in the bland cookie-cutter place he'd shared with Myra, but something about the place felt kind of Spanish to him. Maybe it was how the walls seemed to exude warmth or how the archways were softly rounded with the inside part washed in a gentle white, or the leafy green plant on the table right at the end, or the pattern on the runner rug that favoured triangles.

Whatever it was, it was oddly homely.

There were two doors on the right of the hallway; one ajar leading into what might be a study, the one tightly closed nearest the entrance probably a closet or something. No door on the left, only the large rounded arch near the end that lead into the lounge. They passed through that room, long and inviting, with a feature-staircase in the front corner of the house, dull black in a worn but cared-for iron. It looped up in a wide spiral, in such a bizarre manner that Eddie found he'd stopped to stare. It was like something out of a movie, something kind of magical and weird and nostalgic in ways that didn't make sense, something that Eddie didn't consider a feature of a _normal_ home. It stood out, and yet it fit. It made Eddie smile. It was a suitably _Richie_ thing to have in his home.

"Always wanted one of those."

He lifted his head to see the man himself leaning on the other side of the arch, hands shoved down in his jean pockets. He had a lazy kind of energy to him, his grin easy and his eyes warm. Of all Richie's many moods and voices, Eddie was fond of this one. It had saved him many a summer day. From himself, or whatever had him panicked enough for Richie to drop all his games and show that gentle side he'd be so quickly beaten for if Bowers saw. Eddie's bad mood was already fading, and he cringed upon remembering how absolutely churlish he'd been all day.

Here was Richie, giving him a place to live when his life had fallen apart, and he'd been nothing but a crabby dick to him once the others were gone and only Richie was left to prop him up.

It must have shown on his face because Richie laughed and pushed off from the wall to stand beside him, taking it as judgement of his decorating taste.

"Hey man listen, I was practically still a kid the first time someone asked me what I wanted my house to look like."

"You're still practically a kid." Eddie answered instantly, and the easy grin crooked at one side when Richie shrugged.

"Makes you my babysitter." he bit back, his eyes lighting with familiar mischief when he waggled his eyebrows, "Gonna let me stay up late and watch movies my parents wouldn't approve of?"

Eddie shoved him. But his mouth betrayed him, slipping sideways into a smile. Thirty years later and Richie was still doing it. Saving him from the things that wanted to panic him, wanted to drag him down and drown him. It was only then that he noticed the suitcases were missing. A quizzical brow only earned him another grin, Richie slipping his hands back into his jeans and motioning with his head.

Eddie followed dutifully, passing the plush sofas and the huge TV and the bookcases the Eddie of tomorrow would rifle through in a fit of curiosity about who Richie the adult was when he wasn't on that stage telling shitty jokes. The lounge was edged by what turned out to be the second half of that large arch, the sharp right taking them both into a spacious kitchen. Eddie loved it instantly, the faint feeling of Spain giving way to something more Italian. Much like the staircase, the small burner against the far wall in the red-stone fireplace was dark iron. Clearly old, with detailing in sweeping curls along the edges, but cared for. The wall directly opposite the archway Eddie stood in was filled by a long row of countertop in a verdant green marble above warm wood cabinets. The sink, huge as those in restaurant kitchens, was deep and shining silvery in the evening light streaming in through the large windows above it.

The left wall was more counters and high cabinets, some with crystal-cut glass doors that proudly showed off stacks of plates, mismatching but expensive looking glasses, a framed photo, other things that didn't really belong. The right wall had counter tops with no cabinets above them, a large clean expanse of space that Eddie could easily picture someone preparing meals in. Another arch, flared instead of flat this time, lead into a room half cast in shadow, only the initial shelves visible. The corner by Eddie's right shoulder held a giant double-door refrigerator, the left a chest freezer with small shelves above it. Those shelves held books, a china tea cup, a trophy, what looked like a cereal box toy, a spare pair of Richie's glasses; clunky and faded.

And in pride of place in the centre of the room was a large island, one side occupied by a long range cooker, eight burners, three doors. Wooden block countertop on one edge, knife block in the centre. The other side was littered with papers and junk, and a discarded mug Eddie hoped feverishly didn't have anything in it, considering how long Richie had been gone. The shiny metal of the suspended extraction fan cast the sunlight back to the ceiling in streaks of colour.

"Kitchen." was all the introduction Richie gave the room, and Eddie couldn't help the raised eyebrow he shot back in response.

Richie shrugged, for the first time in days looking marginally uncomfortable. It shouldn't have been half as endearing as it was, but there you had it. Eddie realised that Richie looked a little bit _ashamed_ , almost. Or maybe it was just the light hitting him with embarrassment. The single word undersold the impressive room, but Eddie wasn't about to say so. He settled for safer ground.

"If that mug is growing mould cultures we're throwing it out."

Richie's gaze darted in puzzlement, before his face eased into something familiar again. He tilted his head in faux seduction and gave Eddie a look with heavily lidded eyes.

" _We_? You live here, Kapbrak?"

And Eddie wasn't falling for _that_ , no thank you. He scowled and knocked Richie with his elbow as he wandered towards what had to be the pantry, the shadowed shelves.

" _You're_ throwing it out."

He found the light easily, on a string just inside. Richie hadn't been kidding about the lack of organisation. The small closet-like room was well-stocked to be sure, something of a surprise to Eddie who had half-expected Richie to live on takeout and bad restaurants. Maybe own a bunch of frozen TV Dinners, box macaroni, that kind of thing. Instead, Eddie was pleasantly surprised to find he was looking at an _enviously_ full pantry. It made him kind of itch to cook something, even after the day he'd had. When was the last time he'd wanted to do that? He couldn't remember. That was always something Myra took care of, in the way she took care of everything. He felt both guilty and ashamed, and _annoyed_. He'd let her micromanage him and all his days, just like his mother.

When he sensed Richie's presence hovering behind him, he snorted.

"You weren't kidding."

Richie's chuckle was low and fond, and Eddie wondered if they'd crossed a line somewhere since killing It that they couldn't return to. Things hadn't been _strange_ , per se, not in an unpleasant way. But they'd been different. Their energy together had been different. They were like they used to be, sure. All fire and bitching and Richie still drove him to screaming at least once most days. But this un-hiddden fondness, this new thing that was softer and had less edges, had that been there all those years ago too?

Had Eddie just forgotten it, or had he just never noticed? Or was it something Richie had learned since leaving Derry?

He'd spent the past few days relearning how to be that Eddie, while also learning how to be that Eddie as an adult who was free of Derry. As a result he'd abandoned his medications once more, encouraged by the memory of hurling them to the floor so many years ago, watching them scatter in the space between him and his mother with a satisfying freedom. The days had passed in intoxicating relief and morbid uncertainty, like escaping a sinking ship to find himself alone in the middle of the sea. He was no longer trapped and doomed, and he'd regained the power to keep himself afloat, but he had no fucking clue which direction to swim in.

"One day at a time." Mike had told him wisely yesterday, as they'd waved him and Bill off on the official start of their road trip, "It'll get easier, Eddie."

He was probably right, too. But floating in the utter wreckage that was his life would be enough to make anyone anxious, Eddie reasoned. But it was getting easier to remember there were people in the water with him, people who had lifeboats and who would drag him from the grip of the water every time he fell back in. He cleared the sudden lump of emotion from his throat and stared at the shelves. Nothing was in a proper place, and he said as much, mostly to clear the tension he could feel leaking into the air and partly just to hear Richie laugh again.

But, admittedly, when they left the pantry to continue through the house, past the downstairs bathroom to the carpeted staircase at the very back that carried them to the bedrooms, Eddie could see why some of the things lay where they did. Pasta beside tins of chopped tomatoes, bread squished between jars of various things one might put on toast. They made some semblance of sense, in a Richie kind of way that made him stifle another smile.

That didn't mean, of course, that he would hesitate to remove every item and start from scratch. He'd promised to, so he had his word to keep, after all.

The spare room was towards the front of the house, a space that managed to look both simple and homey, and professionally luxurious. The windows were high in the wall and wide, streaming in that dying evening sun and painting the pale blue walls warm with deep gold. The hardwood floor was stained dark and swaddled generously in thick rugs, a good sized wardrobe on one wall and a roll-top desk against the other that made Eddie think strangely of watching old gangster movies at the Aladdin, squabbling in hushed whispers over popcorn and Milk Duds and the way that the ice in their sodas bit their thighs when their arms were growing tired and they had forgotten about how cold soda could be.

"I didn't figure you for a Victorian woman, Rich." he hummed, gesturing the desk, and Richie's expression was a raw, worn fondness.

"Dunno what it was about it." he shrugged, "Saw it, wanted it."

Eddie snorted, hefting one of the suitcases onto the bedspread and unzipping it to throw the lid open.

"Have you ever even used it?"

Richie's laugh told him the answer, but he still shot him a wry glance anyway just to see it move over the taller man's face. He'd yet to tire of looking at the man, the man whose skin his childhood best friend lived inside. Every grin was familiar and yet new to Eddie, every note of laughter stretching skin in ways that he both recognised and didn't. It was much the same with the others, of course. But he'd always known Richie's face best, his expressions and his tells and all the different ways that he could smile with barely a shift of the muscle in his jaw. To see him and feel that faint flicker of unfamiliarity was… odd. And somewhat exciting to some small part of Eddie that had lain dormant all these years, waiting for this; their reconnection.

"No," Richie was admitting, scrubbing one hand up the back of his head and knocking his glasses an inch further down his nose, "but now you will."

It felt raw, when those dark eyes flickered almost nervously to meet his, with no joke to take the weight. Eddie huffed a sound of indecision and turned his attention to his suitcase just to move past the look and the way it made something tighten in his stomach. He lifted impeccably folded clothing and laid it in neat piles on the bed, aware all the while that Richie was staying, standing right where he had been since they'd stepped foot in the room, watching Eddie.

Eddie had forgotten, even after their memories had begun flushing back in drips and tidal waves alike, how _dizzying_ he used to find it, being the sole focus of Richie Tozier's attention. It was a mire he was treading through, now that they were reunited, of old sensations he could now see with new eyes. The eyes of someone who'd grown up and learned, who'd perhaps not had the healthiest of love lives but who _knew_ things now. Someone who could feel the untainted purity of childish want that he used to feel, and put a name to it. And if not a name, then an understanding. He knew now, what that feeling of almost desperation was, to be looked at, to be _seen_ by him.

Maybe it would be time yet before he'd made his peace with everything that returning to Derry had given him back, but it was a start, to be able to look at Richie and know what love was, to know what that want was, to know unequivocally that he'd been _right_ , all those years ago and not known it, when he'd believed so secretly and fiercely that he'd never meet anyone quite like the ridiculous Trashmouth who filled his days with utter nonsense.

When Richie finally left with a quiet joke about setting Eddie's dinner on the table, closing the door behind him, Eddie busied himself with setting every item he owned in a new place. At first he'd planned to only hang his clothes and live almost like he had at the townhouse, in the temporary suspension of a stepping stone. But Eddie's hands moved quite on their own as his mind wandered forgotten trails, and before he knew it he'd set his wristwatch on the bedside table and his toiletries in the bathroom in the hall that Richie had assured him he'd have sole use of since the master bedroom had an en suite, and stowed his suitcases in the little closet by the top of the stairs.

He shirked his travel clothes more for comfort than necessity, thanking whatever force had compelled him to pack his favourite of lounge clothes, since there would be no returning to New York for anything else. He pondered whether the Turtle had known, as he padded downstairs on socked feet, lead by the smell of ginger and the growing sound of something spitting pleasantly in a pan.

Just like he had only a few days before, Eddie paused in the doorway just to look. The feeling much the same as he had then, like he'd climbed some small mountain and was worn and a little in need of them, his friends. Richie too was free of his sneakers, his acid-washed jeans traded out for soft-looking jogging bottoms in a pale coral. He didn't look up, though from the side-on angle he must have seen Eddie, but kept his eyes on the pan he was shaking, a surprising amount of focus painted comfortably on his face.

The room smelled inviting, the mild heat of spices and the sizzle of chicken making Eddie's mouth water. Richie was all loose lines and ill-fitting grace, and it was so strange to see him look so natural in the kitchen and yet… It _suited_ him, in a bizarre kind of way. Always such a mess as kids, his bedroom a real concern for anyone who didn't watch their feet closely or value their health, Richie had never struck Eddie as the kind of kid who'd grow into a competent and functioning adult. In fact, since learning of his seemingly inevitable choice of profession, Eddie's old suspicions had simply been reinforced.

But the man he was watching set aside the pan to neatly slice red pepper wasn't the Richie he'd lectured about tripping hazards or hand-washing. He was that Richie and more now, a man with the same jungle of midnight curls who had grown into limbs and filled out just the right side of broad, whose eyes still gleamed intelligently behind dorky glasses with frames too thick, whose sense of dress was just as terrible, whose overbite was accentuated by the perpetual turn of lips forever ready to break into one grin or another. A man that Eddie _knew_ , but still had new things to learn about.

Richie couldn't possibly have missed him there on the threshold, with the fingers of one hand brushing down the pleasant rough of the stone wall, simply watching him. But he let him look, let the moment live without acknowledgement until Eddie was stepping forwards and reaching for the tortillas waiting on the counter. He made no move other than to step aside when Eddie stacked them neatly on the waiting tray and slid them into the oven to warm while the juices of the crisp peppers popped and sizzled in the hot pan.

He just let Eddie fit there instead, let him wipe clean the cutting board with a damp cloth, let him pick plates down from a cabinet and lay them side by side on the free workspace. Richie had let Eddie do a lot of things these last few days, without judgement and often without even a word.

Things like letting Eddie wedge too close beside him in that armchair while Bill and Mike took up a whole sofa between them, without teasing him in that way that would have been expected and far too easy to do. He hadn't questioned Eddie wanting to fix him coffee as an excuse to learn if he still took it as he had when they were sixteen, didn't mention how he must have seen the way Eddie hesitated on the threshold of the pharmacy when they swung by for smokes with Bev. He'd allowed Eddie a lot of invaluable breathing space with a measure of understanding that Eddie felt almost guilty for not anticipating.

So when Richie bumped their hips together while he stood beside him at the stove, he didn't bite, instead letting Richie haul him into a loose embrace with one slung arm, and didn't whine when he dropped a kiss on the crown of Eddie's head. He allowed himself the voiceless gesture of comfort, safe in the knowledge that Richie would let it stay voiceless until he was ready to find words. Or forever, if he never was. There was a certain kind of power in such knowing.

They'd fit together like puzzle pieces as kids. The seven of them had made a whole jigsaw, completing parts of each other, but Richie and Eddie had been two pieces clicked right together in their own ways too. The backdrop had changed, the rugged weeds and wild grass of the Barrens melting into city skylines and their youth now lean and lengthened into their adulthood, but the pieces still slid home in the same complimentary ways. They'd been a broken jigsaw in a box for twenty seven years, but now they were whole again.

Eddie was overwhelmed with gratitude, after they'd bickered about a dining table Richie didn't own and finally caved to eat cross-legged on the floor at the coffee table in the lounge, to be part of that picture again. With all that faced him on the horizon, and the challenges he'd only partly succeeded in to leave his old life behind him, it was nothing short of miraculous that he could step away from New York and right into this tightly-woven support network that hadn't frayed and weakened in its years forgotten.

They were arguing over DVDs when Bev messaged their new group chat with photos of a diner, a place that looked old and small but clean and loved, the lettering on the window neat above the fading red vinyl booth behind the window. It was nostalgic, panging gloriously in Eddie's chest and dredging up old memories of the ice cream parlour that had been in Derry for generations. The colour of sunshine fracturing through the window and casting rainbows on the chipped laminate of the tabletops. Sometimes they'd sat in, seven crammed in a booth made for four, squashed and uncomfortable and happy as could be all the while.

"I won't ask chocolate or vanilla," she typed with a wink face, making both Eddie and Richie trade a grin over the old argument that arose every visit, "but anybody feel like shakes?"

It was after eleven at night and they'd spent what felt like the entire day travelling, but Richie hauled himself to his feet and dragged him up with him and lead the way to the kitchen, socked feet and all. They settled for powdered chocolate much to Richie's delight, and Eddie quickly took over the whisking when the taller man's over-enthusiasm threatened to splash all the clean countertop with milk.

Richie took the photo, two tall frosted glasses on the coffee table with Eddie's unimpressed expression in the background, and captioned it with a chocolate bar emote. They missed half of the movie, arguing in the group chat despite being crushed together on the same sofa, and when Stan eventually showed up to tell them to shut the fuck up it was 1am and he had work in the morning, Richie lined their phones together on the top of the table and dropped himself sideways over Eddie and refused to move despite all the pushing Eddie did.

In the end he gave up, even when Richie dragged a blanket down over himself, and they watched the rest of the movie in comfortable silence. When they went to bed he dumped Richie onto the floor at his feet and Richie confiscated his phone and neither of them had to point out it was to prevent him from caving and texting Myra like he had the night before on the sofa at Ben's, because once was enough for _that_ mistake.

Eddie crawled carefully into the new bed, his wound aching and his limbs exhausted, but even the weight of the unfamiliar room and the smell of sheets that weren't his own couldn't dampen the warmth in his blood, because all that was ahead of him couldn't beat The Losers Club. Not when they'd already slain the monsters they had.

~.~


End file.
